


Delirium

by Merkwerkee



Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [4]
Category: Masters of the Metaverse
Genre: Whumptober 2019, dead dove do not eat if you don't like that stuff, during his time in the Vietnam War, medical ick, seriously it's gross in parts, tw: gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22854889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwerkee/pseuds/Merkwerkee
Summary: During a mission deep in the jungle, Bruno and his squadmates have to do what they can to help one of their teammates with an infected injury
Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643020
Kudos: 1





	Delirium

It was a dark and stormy night.

The rain wasn’t surprising, just the timing of it. Here in the jungle-y marsh they were trudging through, the rain tended to come in the afternoon. When it rained it poured, of course, heavy drops falling so thick and fast you’d swear you were underwater and the drips from the trees above continuing for hours after the rain itself finished, but the pouring tended to happen earlier than this.

Bruno couldn’t say for certain what was causing it, but at 2200 local the rain was still going strong and he couldn’t justify going any further when conditions were this bad - even if those same conditions would make it nearly impossible to sleep. Finding a patch of ground tall enough that it likely wouldn’t flood took longer than he’d like, and creating a temporary shelter over it ate up even more time, but with two injured - Cpl Owen Daniels had fallen down a previously hidden cliff and broken his arm, and PFC Trey Wynters had gotten himself stabbed by a sentry who’d turned at just the wrong moment - Bruno thought the benefits of a shelter outweighed the risks of someone finding evidence of their passage.

PFC Wynters concerned him. They’d done the best they could, but none of them were a specifically trained medic and nobody carried more than the basic medical kit. Here and now, after four days of hiking and still two more from the extraction point, those supplies were running low. Cpl Daniels was splinted with strips of Bruno’s undershirt and tied up in an awkward sling of his own shirt, and wouldn’t need any further supplies until they hit base and an actual doctor, but Wynters’ bandages had been changed twice and the last unwrap had revealed red and puffy flesh around the wound.

The man was sitting now in the middle of what was rapidly becoming camp. Bruno couldn’t be sure if he was sweating or not - they were all, to a man, soaked to the bone and looking more like drowned rats than marines - but his face was red and his eyes were glassy. Bruno directed Daniels over to keep an eye on Wynters with a jerk of his head; being down an arm hadn’t stopped Daniels from trying to help pitch camp, but it had lessened his efficiency and there were enough of them that he could be spared.

Daniels went and Bruno directed his attention to helping build the shelter. It was quiet, save for he rain; a long day of hiking through claggy mud was enough to dampen any enthusiasm for talking, and tying some branches together with leaves strung over them was something any marine could do in their sleep. In fact, Bruno half-suspected a few of them were actually asleep on their feet and just going through the motions on autopilot. It didn’t take long, any which way, for them to cobble together something that kept most of the rain off and Bruno moved on the confirming the night’s watch rota with his SIC, Cpl Wilford Trask, when a voice interrupted him.

“Sarge.”

He looked, and saw Daniels motioning for him. With a last nod at Trask, he walked over to where the two walking injured sat - or rather, where Daniels sat and Wynters slumped in a daze. “He doesn’t look good, Sarge,” Daniels said, voice pitched not to carry. Wynters did not look look good at all; still red-faced and glassy-eyed, he now seemed unable to hold himself upright and while none of them smelled particularly nice after more than ten days on mission, there was an edge to Wynters that had the hair on the back of Bruno’s neck standing up.

Bruno grimaced and waved over two PFCs - Cook and Higgs - who’d graduated from stuffing their faces to making themselves as comfortable as possible in the mud. Higgs pulled a face but both of them came over in short enough order. “We need bandage substitutes. Go and find what you can in half an hour and bring it here.” Higgs looked like he wanted to object, but Cook elbowed him smartly and said “Yes sir.” Higgs looked about ready to open his mouth but Cook dragged him away and Bruno watched them go. Higgs was a motormouth, but he usually had better sense than that.

Turning back to Daniels, he was met with a questioning look. “Drain and clean it and hope to Christ it works,” Bruno said quietly and Daniels nodded grimly.

“Think he’ll lose the arm?” he asked, matching Bruno’s tone, and Bruno shrugged.

“I figured he’s got even chances on keeping it if we do something, but no chance if we don’t try.”

“Christ,” Daniels muttered with feeling and Bruno could only nod.

They managed to force some water down Wynters’ throat before Higgs and Cook returned. None of the leaves they’d gathered were dry, but then almost nothing was in the pounding rain. Bruno set Daniels to cleaning them as best he could while Higgs and Cook laid themselves down with everyone else not on watch and Bruno himself went to take the old bandages off. When tugging didn’t budge them, he wetted them down with what water he had left and tried again.

Wynters began babbling as the fabric of the bandages slowly peeled away from the injury underneath. Something about oranges and sailors; Bruno ignored him to keep slowly but surely peeling the bandage away from the injury underneath. The smell hit him in the face and Bruno had to pause and breathe through the nausea as his stomach turned. The wound itself was clearly infected; thick white-green ooze trailed sluggishly from the lower end and the skin to both sides was a dark and angry red where it wasn’t stretched to a shiny off-white.

Daniels made a desperate noise in the back of his throat and thrust the now-cleaned-and-mostly-dried moss toward Bruno, Bruno shook his head grimly and pulled out his knife. Drawing the knife perpendicular to the wound brought a gush of stinking green-yellow goo and an increase in the volume of Wynters’ babble - he was nearly screaming, now, incoherent words that echoed far too loudly for Bruno’s peace of mind and brought everyone who’d been trying to sleep to adrenaline-fueled wakefulness.

“Keep him quiet,” he gritted out to the nearest form in the darkness that resolved itself into LCpl Thomas Yates, looking paler than Bruno had ever remembered seeing him in the light of the small flashlight Bruno held in his off hand. Yates gulped and pulled what might generously have been referred to as a handkerchief from his pocket and muffled Wynters with it as best he could, taking care to keep his nose free. Bruno grunted in approval and pressed on the puffy sides of the wound to a fresh gush of ick and renewed - if now muffled - screaming.

When pressing finally only yielded clear-ish ooze and the swelling had been reduced, Bruno grabbed the cleaned moss from Daniels - who looked distinctly green around the gills - and did the best he could to improvise a bandage. Sitting back on his heels, he looked over Wynters to Trask, who’d remained awake even after the screaming had stopped. Trask met his eyes squarely and shrugged, and Bruno looked down at the stinking mess at his feet. He’d done all he could for Wynters; now it was down to dumb luck.

Bruno stood and went to go refill his canteen in the rain.


End file.
